Can't Fight Fate
by Marianna Merlo
Summary: Draco knows Harry is going to die… if only anyone would believe him!


"God, Malfoy, what are you doing here? It's not really the time for calling."

"Potter, this is important."

"I really doubt it, but what is it?" Harry turned and walked into his living room, taking a seat on the sofa, sighing and running a hand through sleep-mussed hair. It looked like he'd been asleep, and Draco probably woke him up. Well, his hair always looks like that, so really, it was anyone's guess.

Draco shut the door behind him and followed Potter into his flat, sitting across from him in a big chair. "I had a vision."

Harry rubbed his eyes and frowned. "Not another one."

"Potter!" Draco shot him a stern look. "Seer's have visions, what am I supposed to do, turn them on and off? That's not how it works."

"Malfoy, are you quite sure you're a Seer, though? Maybe you just have… an overactive imagination?"

Draco exhaled through his nose. "I'm imagining you hitting your head against the floor, but that's not happening, is it?"

"Ha ha."

"So listen. I was minding my own business sleeping - "

"So was I…"

" - and I was suddenly woken up by the strangest sensation that my throat was closing up and I could not draw one more breath to save my life!"

"And yet, here you are, alive and breathing just fine."

"And I realized, God, I'm drowning! So I panicked and jumped out of bed, dressed as quickly as possible, and came over here."

"Why?"

"I don't know - it's the most alarming thing, really. I'm going to try to figure out why and what it means - "

"No, Malfoy. _Why_ did you come over _here_?"

"Well…" Draco blinked, then scowled. "To tell you. Obviously."

"Okay. Well." Potter got up off the sofa, and Draco realized for the first time that Potter was wearing boxer shorts. Tight, cotton boxer shorts that stretched over his toned thighs and … well, Draco swallowed and looked away from _that_ particular area. "I think it was just a dream," Potter continued in that frustratingly mocking voice he did when he spoke to draco like Draco was a small child. "And the best thing for you to do is just go back to your flat, get into bed, and close your eyes and sleep again."

"But…" Draco tried to protest, but Harry grabbed him by both shoulders and all but heaved him off the chair, pushing him toward the front door. "But…"

"Everything will be all right in the morning. I promise."

Potter leaned against the door, and Draco stood in the hallway.

"But…" Draco started, and Potter raised his eyebrows in question. "You sleep in only your pants?"

Potter startled and looked down at himself, then blushed and glared at Draco. "Good night, Malfoy," he said in a stern voice, and shut the door.

Draco exhaled roughly, staring at the little silver metal numbers outside the door of Potter's flat. That tosser never believed him when he had his visions. And Draco was sure of what he felt - the Fates were trying to tell him something: Someone, though he didn't know who yet, was going to die. Drowning. And Draco had to find out who as soon as possible and stop this travesty from happening.

He sighed and turned to face the opposite door to Potter's. Taking his key out of his pocket, he pushed it into the lock and opened the door to his own flat. Why did all this responsibility have to fall on _him_?

At six a.m sharp the next morning, Draco was freshly showered and dressed, and he pounded on Potter's door. Since Potter did not answer right away, Draco kept pounding.

He eventually heard noises from inside, which meant Potter was there. Draco pounded louder and faster.

The door swung open, and Potter stood there with a towel around his waist, his hair dripping little rivulets of water down his very angry looking face.

"What?!"

Draco exhaled in relief upon seeing Potter, albeit pissed off, alive and well. "Well, thank me, why don't you?"

Potter's eye twitched behind his wet glasses, and the his hand gripping the door was white at the knuckles. "Malfoy. _Why_ in the bloody _hell_ would I thank you for ruining my shower and making me walk out here dripping wet? I have to get ready for work!" he added hastily.

"You should thank me because I just saved you from drowning, you imbecile."

Harry's mouth gaped open, so Draco realized he better explain. Potter was still as dim-witted as at school, clearly.

"I was taking my own shower this morning, and as I was soaping my hair, I realized, Potter is probably showering at this time as well."

"You were…" Potter's cheeks turned pink, and his expression of fury began to slowly melt away. "You were imagining me in the shower?"

"Yes," Draco said, "I do a lot of my thinking in the shower, if you must know. And I was thinking about my Vision last night." At the mention of which, Potter rolled his eyes. "And it sort of came to me: Potter's going to drown in the shower!"

"Er…"

"So then I was fucking relieved and happy - "

"You were?"

" - because that's it! I'd figured out my Vision!" Draco beamed, unable to contain his proud grin. "I'm just so happy I figured it out. So I finished my shower, did my hair, ate breakfast -"

"Oh, so, just went along your normal business, then? Brilliant. No hurry or anything."

" - And now I'm here - and it looks as though I'm just in time to warn you. So, Potter, you see, you cannot shower."

"I can't?"

"No, or you'll surely drown. Like I just said. You don't listen, do you?"

Harry frowned. "So when do you reckon it would be _safe_ for me to shower again? Hm?"

"Well…" Draco stuttered, thinking... "Well, probably… never…"

"Never."

"Well, you don't want to run the risk of drowning. But, er... I see your predicament, Potter. God, that's so unfortunate for you. You're doomed to smell horrible forever more."

"Malfoy. Go away."

Draco's mouth hung open. "That's what i get for saving your life?"

"I have to finish getting ready for work."

"But… Death Omens says the Victim of Fate must avoid any and all activities that could place him in danger." Draco sped up his speech as Potter started to slowly shut the door. "So that means, no getting back in the shower. And… and you should probably avoid being caught outside in the rain! Potter, are you listening?" The door was shutting faster. "It's going to rain today!"

That night, Draco sat at his dining table, which was just a small wooden table in the corner of the kitchen in the tiny flat, with Hermione Granger, who was a bit drunk, if truth be told.

"Malfoy, I'm telling you..." She pounded the table with her fist. "These rules are necessary for the wellbeing of the

"Oh, God, Granger." Draco rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you - and how long till it sinks into your bushy little head? Trolls don't _want_ to learn to read."

"But they are not animals, Malfoy! The Department of the Regulation of Magical creatures classifies them as Beings with intellige-"

"Yes, yes…" Draco waved her off, pouring himself another glass of the white wine she had bought. "But can you please not bring this up at tomorrow's meeting, because it will just cause another commotion, and I'm still nursing a headache from last week's Merpeople spat."

The door opened suddenly, and Potter burst through. "Hermione!" He spotted her and took a seat next to her at the table. "There you are. I thought you were coming over _my_ place… forty-five minutes ago."

Draco smirked as Potter waved his hand and an empty glass flew out of Draco's kitchen cupboard and landed in his outstretched palm.

"Obviously," Draco said, "you're boring as a Crup, and Granger finally realized it."

"I came to tell Malfoy something about work," Granger said, "and got sucked into another useless debate." She turned back to Draco with a piercing glare. "You shouldn't even be working at this department. You don't even like creatures."

"I know…" Draco sighed and took a drink.

"Malfoy's been trying to warn me about drowning."

"Oh, God…"

"You two are fucking cynics," Draco said, frowning. "I should toss you out of my flat."

Potter snorted. "Why haven't I tossed you out of my flat when you come over three times a day to inform me of every little _feeling_ you have? Someone's going to drown someone's going to get stabbed, someone's going to be hit by a tickling charm… What is it with Seers and predicting death and destruction? I'm beginning to think you people get off on it."

"You wouldn't understand, because you don't have the Gift."

Potter and Granger exchanged annoying, skeptical glances.

"Fine, don't believe me."

Potter smirked at Draco, and put his glass to his lips to take a sip of wine, and Draco suddenly had to fight a tightening in his stomach. Maybe the wine was getting to him fast, as he was beginning to feel light headed and happy.

Then Potter's eyes widened, and he brought his hand to his chest and slammed his glass back onto the table. He began to cough incessantly, and his face turned red.

"Harry!" Granger leapt out of her seat at the same time Draco did, and they both hurried to Potter and grabbed his shoulders. "You're choking! Are you okay?"

Draco hit Potter in the back a few times. "I knew you were going to die!"

Potter shot him a glare. But his breathing began to return to normal, and he heaved in large lungful of air. "Wow, what was that?"

"My Vision coming true, that's what it was!" Draco exclaimed excitedly.

"What was the vision, exactly?" Granger asked.

"I was minding my own business, sleeping -"

Potter groaned. "Here we go…"

" - and I suddenly woke up from the sensation of choking."

"Last night, you said it was drowning," Potter added.

"Drowning… choking… whatever - I couldn't breathe! And it came true just now, see?"

"You seem oddly happy about it," Potter said.

"Well, I was right, wasn't I?" Draco smiled, feeling just a bit smug.

"It…" Granger appeared confused. "It could have been a coincidence, you know."

"It was not a coincidence, Granger. Potter's lucky I'm here, or he'd be dead now."

"Right, because informing me of the vision did so much to save me."

Draco chose to ignore that. "I should be working with the Unspeakables. I'm sure I could help them solve many… er… whatever they solve."

Many glasses later, Granger excused herself and went home.

"It's getting late," Draco said. "Granger's right. I think I should go to bed as well."

Potter looked at him intensely. Rather too intensely. It made Draco nervous… and warm.

"Past your bedtime, Malfoy?" Potter asked with a smirk. He was peering at Draco through those glasses, his hair thick and mussed, stubble on that handsome face.

No! Not handsome. Infuriating and annoying.

"Well, some of us have to get up early tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"Oh. Right." Draco swallowed. Potter looked so good.

"Malfoy." Potter leaned in, and the warmth of his body seemed to radiate. Draco shifted in his seat, trying to suppress the tingling sensation running through him. "Why do you come over to my place so much?"

"Why? Well, to warn you of your imminent death, of course."

"Mm." Potter smiled. "And before that? You still came every day."

"We do live so near each other, Potter," Draco informed him as if he'd forgotten. "Although I sill don't know how that happened."

"Me neither… but maybe it was, as you'd say… Fate?"

Potter's whole presence seemed to suck him in, because before Draco knew it, he was leaning in, too. Then their faces were impossibly close, and he could smell Potter's hair… the scent of shampoo from this morning, still lingering. Then Potter's hot mouth was on his, and then his tongue was in Draco's mouth, and Draco felt that distinct sensation as though he couldn't breathe.

Perhaps, although he didn't predict quite this, his Vision was coming true after all.


End file.
